


Time is Luck

by JDLehane



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Multi, Music, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDLehane/pseuds/JDLehane
Summary: Whether it's a bright and shining moment on a dance floor or a quiet conversation in bed on a heavy day, Makoto Niijima and Ren Amamiya are lucky to love one another.These are some of the moments they share.Part of the 2020 Shumako Mini Bang.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist, Sakamoto Ryuji/Suzui Shiho/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22
Collections: ShuMako Mini Bang





	1. Austin

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get started, some housekeeping:
> 
> In the course of participating in this Mini Bang, I got to collaborate with two excellent artists, Patchie and Doorpheus. Check out their work at @patchiecakies and @doorpheuss on Twitter. Patchie drew the piece that accompanies this fic. It's awesome, and I cannot wait for you to see it.
> 
> A huge thank you to Bombcollar, Blixialookscarsick, Plums, MarieBoheme and Jakebroe, who provided invaluable feedback over the course of writing.
> 
> Future content notes - there's a death by suicide in the next chapter, as well as a discussed history of alcoholism.
> 
> And, on a happier note, music became a massive part of this fic kind of by accident. Now that it's ready to go, I've built a playlist for it, which I'll post at the top of every chapter.
> 
> Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUOgOXZQtwJzAJC0YJ_aLRGlOtS-TRd6j
> 
> Chapter one features the first two songs - Bob Mould's "Sunshine Rock" and Hüsker Dü's cover of "Love is All Around."
> 
> And that should take care of everything, set-up wise! Thank you for reading, and I hope y'all dig this.

MAKOTO: THEN

When Ren Amamiya stepped onto the concrete dance floor and offered Makoto Niijima his hand, she took the leap. Yes, it was raining. Yes, she was only just learning the basics of dance. Yes, Ren’s dancing could be ridiculous and hammy. But this was the moment. This was the time they had together, and the place where they had it. And time, as Ren’s new-to-her tattoo reminded Makoto, was luck.

On stage, the guitarist they had come to see launched into a raucous new song alongside his band.

_“They don’t love you, like I love you_ ,” he sang. “ _I won’t leave you in the dark. Look above you, I will love you in the sunshine on the rock._ ” His fingers danced on his guitar strings, weaving a trail of melody and rage and joy. Ren was bobbing in time to the song, somewhere between a sway and a full body headbang. Makoto began tapping her foot, finding the rhythm. She listened to the singer, who summoned up the feeling of wind blowing through his beard and the sound of his lover’s heartbeat in his ears. She felt the cool evening rain on her skin. It had been coming down steadily since just before the show had started, but not hard. It was really quite pleasant, like a shower after a hard-fought aikido match. Between the emotional high of dancing with her _person_ and the physical sensation of the rain, everything felt more than real. It was hyperreal, a moment that demanded to be lived in, to be reveled in.

So Makoto reveled. She danced like she was in a match, sharp angles and decisive strikes between rain drops as the singer declared his lover was “ _like lightning across the sky_ ” and vowed to take him with him “ _into the sunshine rock_.” As she danced, she watched Ren. He was bending and winding with the music, breathing in the song and moving with it. His boots splashed in the puddle that had welled up around him. His shirt, a grinning skeleton practicing physical therapy, clung to him, the rain turning it almost transparent. In a different moment, Makoto would have gleefully indulged in the eye candy, and Ren would have gleefully indulged in being eye candy. But not this moment. This moment was for dancing. And in his dancing, Ren was beautiful to Makoto.

REN: THEN

As far away from Daft Punk as Bob Mould’s music was, Ren was thinking that the legendary rocker’s show was proof that some famous advice from his favorite cyborg Frenchmen was dead on. There were moments that demanded you lose yourself to dance. And this was one of them. He moved with the guitar, the drums, the lyrics, the whole of the song. He twisted and turned, added flourishes, spirals and flew his hands through the air like a fighter pilot laying out a mission.

“ _We watch the fireworks in an open field and stay so late we miss the train_ ,” Mould sang. “ _We grab a taxi on the busy busy street, and race across the city once again_.” The lyric hit Ren right as he turned to look at Makoto. And then it was 2017 again, and they were sharing a bemused look under a convenience store awning, soaked by the storm that had rained out the fireworks festival. The Phantom Thieves had planned on using it to celebrate Makoto joining them and their victory over extortionist mobster Junya Kaneshiro. Instead, they’d hung out under halogen lights. Still, something had clicked for both of them in that look. And they were walking through a long spring rain in Kichijoji in 2018, looking for a taxi after the trains had stopped running. They had ultimately made their way back to LeBlanc after the rain had stopped but before sunrise, running on euphoria and the promise of coffee. And now, in 2019 they were dancing together at the Mohawk in Austin, Texas, surrounded by their fellow concertgoers, the rain and by Bob Mould’s gorgeously melodic guitar rock. It was an instant Ren knew that he had to burn into his memory.

So Ren danced. And he watched Makoto, his _person_ , dance. Even lost in the song she was precise. He recognized some of her aikido and kickboxing moves, the pleasure she took in the movement and the happiness she found in merging them with the dance she had begun to study. Her boots made raindrops dance as they hit the ground. Her long, slightly goth skirt and her loved-ragged black dancing t-shirt whirled in the rain. At a different time, he would have happily teased her for being impossibly gorgeous. And he would have relished her blush. But now was time for dancing. And in her dancing, Makoto was beautiful to Ren.

REN AND MAKOTO: THEN

“ _The search to find a love that makes your life complete_ ,” Mould sang, starting the buildup to the song’s climax. _“Oh, life is but a dance inside the power plant_.” Ren and Makoto locked eyes. They weren’t dancing with each other _per se_. They were giving each other the space they needed, but still close to one another. And they were getting closer.

“ _So when the lights go down and people fade away,_ ” Mould warned, “ _There is no second chance, there is no second chance_.” Ren and Makoto were dancing _together_. Ren had traded some of his freewheels for Makoto’s strikes. Makoto had loosened up her form and found some of Ren’s twirls. Their separate styles were meeting, conversing, shaping each other.

“ _I reach into the sky, grab the nearest shooting star_ ,” Mould roared triumphantly. “ _Breaking it in two, I give my half to you!_ ” With a last twirl, Ren extended his hand to Makoto. With a last strike, she punched towards his hand and wrapped her fingers in Ren’s. He pulled her close. Makoto looked up at him, her red eyes giddy. He looked down at her, his grey eyes shining with glee.

_“I’ll be your astronaut_ , _you know we won’t get caught_ ,” Mould promised. _“We’re heading straight into the sunshine rock, oh yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!!!_ ” As Mould and the lover he was singing for headed towards their promised dawn, Ren leaned up and kissed Makoto. Their dances. The rain. Mould’s song. Everything they had been through together, as enemies, as Phantom Thieves, as friends, as lovers. It was a _moment_. A moment in the same way that Ren was Makoto’s _person_ and he hers.

The music trailed off. Makoto broke the kiss and looked at Ren. On stage, Mould and his bandmates grabbed water and did quick checks on their instruments. The rain continued, unabated. The moment had passed. But the afterglow remained. And it was quite something.

“Wow,” Makoto said. “My goodness, Ren, that was…” Ren nodded. Their faces were red, but neither of them knew if it was because they were blushing profusely, or because they had just danced themselves silly.

“Yeah,” Ren said. “You make my world spin Makoto, you know that?”

“Oh, you…” Makoto ran her hand through Ren’s hair and hugged him tight. “This was wonderful, truly. But would you mind if we sat down and dried off a little? I don’t want either of us to get sick if the weather gets worse.” Ren nodded, and smiled.

“And that, Queen, is why I brought towels.”

“‘The victory lies in the preparation?’” Makoto couldn’t help but chuckle at the quote.

“Precisely, Batman. C’mon. I think there’ll be covered seats on the balcony level.” Hand in hand, Ren and Makoto made their way inside, shining in the afterglow of the moment.

MAKOTO AND REN: THEN

“Hey, I think I found it,” Ren called from the couch as Makoto stepped out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry in a borrowed pair of lounge shorts and a night-sky-colored t-shirt decorated with hundreds of bats swarming around the boldly-printed words “FUCK YEAH BATS!” Ren held up his cell phone in her direction.

“Oh?” With one hand still toweling, Makoto took the phone from Ren as she sat down next to him. She looked at the screen. He’d opened YouTube.

“Fourth from the top,” Ren said. Makoto looked. The fourth result search for “Bob Mould You’re Going to Make it After All” was a washed-out looking video labeled “HUSKER DU – Love is all around (Mary Tyler Moore theme).” She hit play and recognized the guitar immediately.

_“Who can turn the world on with her smile?_ ” Bob Mould, and bandmates Grant Hart and Greg Norton asked 34 years in the past alongside clips from the opening of _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_. _“Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?_ ” Makoto grinned.

“Yes, this is it! I remember this song. My father watched _Mary Tyler Moore_ to relax after he’d had a bad day. I think it was my grandparents’ favorite,” she said, and turned to look at Ren. He was reclining on the couch. He was smiling, a broad and easy grin. His head bobbed gently with the music, and his hair, still a little damp from the shower, shook along with it. He’d changed from his soaked concert clothes into lounge shorts and a loose t-shirt declaring his love for toxic waste. His tattoos – a stylized version of The World tarot card on his outer right arm, “Time is luck” in dark blue letters on his outer left arm, and the Iwai clan gecko on his neck, were bold and clear against his skin. He looked good. He looked relaxed. He looked _happy_. And not just because of his extra plush bunny slippers, though she knew he loved those. Grinning, he pointed at her and started to sing along.

  
“ _Well it’s you, girl, and you should know it. With each glance and every little movement you sh_ …” Makoto tackle hugged Ren before he could finish the line. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed hard. Hüsker Dü played on.

“You are a _tease_ , Ren Amamiya,” she said. “You make me blush and you make my heart dance and all the evidence I have gathered points towards your doing so on purpose.” She cupped a hand under his chin and brought his eyes level with hers. Ren was smirking – his infuriating, glorious Joker grin.

“Guilty as charged. And I’m happy to guilty, Ms. Niijima. Because, Makoto?”

“Mm?”

“I _love_ making you blush. And based on all the evidence I’ve gathered you love it too,” Ren said, slipping his arms out from under Makoto and wrapping them around her.

“Guilty as charged.” Makoto said, giggling. Ren kissed her on the cheek, reached up and ran a hand through her hair.

“So what’s our sentence?” He asked.

“This,” Makoto raised her hand to Ren’s cheek and leaned in. “It’s _more_ than sufficient punishment.” She kissed him then, long and deeply.

“Thank you,” she said when their lips separated. “For _that_ , for finding the song, for taking me out tonight. And for inviting me here. Travel isn’t something I get to do much of these days, and you’ve made this a really, really wonderful trip. For having my back and for being my North Star. You’re my _person_ and I’m so, so glad that you are. I love you.”

“You stole the words right out from under me Makoto,” Ren said, blushing. “I love you too. Thank _you_. Thank you for being my _person_. For letting me share what I love with you. For tonight and yesterday and tomorrow and the day after, for this _time_. For walking this weird and winding road with me. For having my back and for being my North Star. That, by the way? _Awesome_ line.”

“Oh? Good. Our studying continues to pay dividends.” Makoto said, smirking.

“And then some, Queen. And then some.” Ren kissed her then. And then again. On her lips, on the tips of her ears, on her neck. He rolled, bringing Makoto on top of him, pulled her close and kissed her again. And again. And again.

The apartment’s vinyl couch wasn’t the fanciest in the world, or the most comfortable. But it did the job Makoto and Ren needed it to do. And did it well. Still, there were limits.

“Do you want to go further?” Ren asked when he took the chance to grab some air.

“Maybe later,” Makoto said. “Right now I want to catch my breath.”

“Sounds good.” Ren said with a nod as Makoto lay down on him. She could feel his heartbeat next to her own, felt cool rain on her skin and Bob Mould’s guitar in her bones.

“I’m going to remember tonight,” she said. “I’d go so far as to say it was perfect.”

“Perfect works for me,” Ren said. “Nights like this… They’re something precious.” He gently stroked Makoto’s neck with his thumb. She savored his touch, savored the moment and all the moments linking to it.

In the years to come, they’d carry this night with them.


	2. Las Vegas/Tokyo I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after Austin, Ren finds himself on the edge. And Makoto sees long-overdue justice done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started, two content notes:
> 
> This chapter depicts a death by suicide and discusses alcoholism.

REN: NOW

When the dying man reached his broken hand for Ren’s, Ren took it as gently as he could.

“s-s-Sloan. My name’s, my name’s Ch-Charleston… Sloan,” the man said. He squeezed Ren’s hand. Ren squeezed back, lightly. Charleston Sloan looked at him, tears and blood streaming down his face. Then, he shifted his gaze towards the night sky. Even with the noise and lights of the Vegas strip, the stars were bright and clear. He said something, but Ren couldn’t make it out.

And then Ren Amamiya was kneeling outside of a parking garage in Las Vegas, Nevada. Dressed in tactical gear. Holding a corpse’s hand.

MAKOTO: NOW

When Detective Makoto Kajiyama stepped out of the restaurant to get some fresh air and smoke a cigarette, Makoto Niijima took her shot. She was lying on a picnic blanket on top of the Penguin Sniper Darts & Billiards building. Her aim was true. And behind her camera her gaze was unsparing.

As far as the woman Kajiyama was currently dating knew, he was here in Kichijoji to take her to dinner. And he was. But that was not the only reason he’d come to the neighborhood. He had an appointment to keep. There was one thing Makoto would give to the man who shared her name, the man who was a legend in the career she’d once built a dream on, the man who kidnapped and tortured people for money and for kicks. He was punctual. That and that alone she’d give him. She hoped that the same could be said for the person he’d come here to meet.

Sure enough, a harried-looking man in jogging clothes skidded to a stop outside the restaurant. Kajiyama offered him a cigarette. The jogger refused, and Kajiyama smirked. Makoto had come to know that smirk well in the month that she had been tailing him. It bent his features, let a little bit of what she’d come to know as his real face show through. He held out his hand, and his expression flattened back to neutral. The jogger, rambling, unzipped the waist pack he was wearing and handed Kajiyama a flash drive and a pack of nicotine gum. Kajiyama pocketed them and offered the jogger a cigarette for the road. The jogger shook his head, zipped up his waist pack, and jogged on. Kajiyama watched him go and smirked again, but just for a moment. Then he settled his face, turned, and walked back into the restaurant.

Makoto pushed herself into a sitting position and checked the photos she had taken. In reverse, Makoto Kajiyama moonwalked out of the restaurant, waited for the jogger to run backward, offered him a cigarette, handed him a flash drive and a pack of nicotine gum, offered him another cigarette, watched him run back across the crosswalk, and blew on his cigarette until it became whole again.

“I’ve got you,” Makoto said to the Kajiyama in the pictures. “You goddamned rancid pig.”

REN AND HARU: NOW

“He jumped, Haru. He fucking jumped. To get away from me,” Ren said to his longtime friend and recent employer – fellow former Phantom Thief Haru Okumura. “And then he held my hand and told me his name.” Ren was pummeling the Wing Chun dummy in the workout corner she’d built into this apartment, shifting from Wing Chun to Jeet Kune Do to Pencak Silat. His form, Haru thought, was strong. It was almost always strong. But his emotional control was shot. He was vulnerable – he hadn’t even changed out of his tactical gear.

If she didn’t act now, Ren would force what he was feeling down. He’d tell himself not to worry about his own issues when there were people who he could be helping. He’d burn his own heart to ash if it meant that someone else wouldn’t have to suffer. And Haru would not allow that to happen.

“You can’t get it out of your head, Ren-kun,” she said. “And I don’t think you should.” Ren launched a flurry of high-speed punches at the dummy, shouting kiais alongside each blow. He hopped back and struck a final, hard blow to one of the dummy’s pads, then turned to look at Haru, avoiding her eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked. Haru grimaced.

“I mean you’re hurting. Hurting badly enough that it’s out in the open and I don’t think you can see it.”

“…Our clients are safe.”

“Yes. And you’re hurting. We’re going to talk about it. And we’re going to talk about it now.” Haru said. Ren’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“Haru… Ok, you’re right. Yes. Yeah. It sucks. It really fucking sucks. Whatever happened to Charleston Sloan that led to him becoming a hitman, that sucks. That he became a hitman, that he wanted to shoot our client’s kid in the face so that some power-mad chucklehead could prove an imagined point? That, and this is an understatement, _really fucking sucks_. That he jumped off a parking garage to get away from me and then asked me to hold his hand while he bled out? I’m going to have nightmares. But that’s nothing new. We did good. The kid’s safe. Sloan’s dead. Onto the next job, right? It’s like you said, there are people out there who need our help. So we help them. That’s what we do. I can deal with my shit later.”

Ren turned back to the dummy. He wanted the conversation to be over. Haru knew that if he threw himself into another session of katas, Ren would get his armor back on. And the next time it slipped he would be even worse for wear than he already was. He took a deep breath, circled his arms, and took a fighting stance. This was the moment. Because it had to be.

  
“Ren,” she said. “What did you do when Makoto was drinking so much that you were scared for her?”

Ren’s stance dropped. He turned to Haru again and this time looked her in the eyes. She could see that his were bloodshot and surrounded by deep, dark rings.

“That’s a low fucking blow, Haru,” Ren said. He was angry but more than that he was exhausted. He rubbed his eyes, trying to force the anger back. Haru pressed her attack.

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry. But it got your attention,” she said. “And I need you to listen to me. Ren, you’re ripping yourself apart.”

Ren sat down on the stair of the dummy’s little arena. He sighed, and Haru heard the despair in it. Despair and resignation.

“Then I’ll sew myself back toge…”

“Ren Amamiya, do not _fucking_ interrupt me when I’m speaking!” Haru shouted. “I am not going to watch one of my best friends kill himself by centimeters!” Ren’s eyes snapped fully open, stunned. His defenses; his denial, his anger, his attempts to bargain with himself, Haru’s roar had blown them all away. This was her chance. She crossed to the step, sat down next to him, and took his hands in hers.

“Haru, I… Does it really look that bad to you?” He asked.  
  
“It doesn’t look that bad, Ren-kun. It _is_ that bad. When was the last time you slept through the night? When was the last time you took a day off that I didn’t ask you to take? When was the last time you talked, and I mean _really, truly talked_ to Makoto about the bad days? Or even about the good days?” Ren stared at Haru, pulled his hands away from hers, and wrapped his arms around his legs. When he spoke, he was shaky and grasping for words. His eyes were wet.

“Ok… Ok, so yeah. So, you’re right, Haru. I’m hurting. I’m hurting so badly that I don’t know if I have the words for it,” Ren said. Something was building up in him, something massive, something that he needed to let out. “…I can’t… I don’t know… I think I just I… I, I…”

And then he screamed.

MAKOTO: NOW

“Niijima? Oi, Niijima! You asleep?” Makoto opened her eyes and sat up in her chair. She was sitting by the window of Comet Books and Afterwords’ café. She’d been a regular at the bookshop for years. Between a job she'd done for the staff and her frequent patronage, her catnaps had become part of what gave the place its character.

“Just resting my eyes, Captain,” she said, fully awake. Katsuhiro “The Wire” Sekiguchi, the man she had served under during her time in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police’s Internal Affairs department, was sitting across from her. He was rail-thin and kept his dark brown hair just above a buzz cut. As always, he wore a well-tailored dark blue suit and a well-loved pair of high-end DJ’s headphones around his neck. He hadn’t been Makoto’s superior officer for a while now, but he’d earned and maintained her respect. And, on a purely practical level, he was one of the few cops she was on speaking terms with.

“How do you do that?” Sekiguchi asked. “And can I learn?” Makoto chuckled.

“Sure. I’ll take payment in DJ lessons.”  
  
“When I quit the force.”  
  
“That’ll be a good day and a bad day, Captain. But let’s save the pleasantries for another day.” Sekiguchi nodded.

“You got him?” he asked. Makoto reached into her jacket, pulled out a flash drive, and handed it to Sekiguchi.

“Kajiyama’s entire exchange with Dietman Goto’s aide, on the day and at the time they’d talked about on your wire,” she said. Sekiguchi smiled darkly.

“Between these photos, my recordings and what you found at Site B,” he said. “We’ll nail him to the wall. This is a hell of a job Niijima.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “I recommend you move as quickly as you can. Now that he’s accepted payment, he’ll be working himself up, getting in the mood. He’ll get hungry. And he’ll get hungry soon. When he moves, it’ll be fast.” Sekiguchi nodded.

“We’ll have a tac team ready to move this afternoon. Want to come and watch?”

“No. I’ve spent enough time in Makoto Kajiyama’s company. But thank you all the same Captain,” Makoto said. “I’m going to try and get some sleep.” She leaned back in her chair and stretched, feeling all the kinks and sore places that came with stakeouts. Sekiguchi stood.

“In that case, Niijima, I hope you sleep well. I’ll have accounting wire you your fee. And thank you, again.”

He pushed in his chair in, bowed slightly, and took his leave.

Makoto looked out Comet’s window and felt the sun on her face. Deep, non-catnap sleep was going to be an open question for a day or two. It usually was when she closed a big case, and Kajiyama had been the biggest she’d worked so far.

Still, she could relax. And that would get her one step closer to sleep. Makoto ordered an asiago pretzel and sparkling watermelon water from the café and savored them. She caught up on the Don Winslow novel she’d been reading in translation. She let herself breathe. It was a start.

\---

That evening, after a long shower and miso soup made from the Niijima family recipe, Makoto checked her email. Sekiguchi had sent her something. She thumbed it open on her phone and read,

_Niijima._

_It’s done. We grabbed him while he was on the computer. He was working on this. I think you should see it. He’s been at this for a long, long time. You stopped him. And you’ve done right by these folks._

_Again, thank you. I owe you one._

_Keep spinning,_

_Capt. Katsuhiro Sekiguchi, TMPD, Internal Affairs_

Attached to the e-mail was a file. Makoto opened it. It was a spreadsheet. A spreadsheet labeled “Fun.” A spreadsheet labeled “Fun” indexed by year and filled with names. Rows upon rows of names. She recognized the last name entered on the current year – Lisa Nagata, the rising dietwoman who Shuji Goto had hired Kajiyama to abduct. He’d jumped the gun on adding her name. He’d gotten complacent. But after what looked to be a decade of torture-for-hire, it made sense that he would. He’d gotten away with it for so long that it must have been his normal. Makoto thought of a line from one of Ren’s favorite movies. Colin Farrell talking to Gong Li.

_“Things go wrong. The odds catch up. Probability is like gravity: you cannot negotiate with gravity._ ”

The odds had caught up to Makoto Kajiyama. Now came the fallout. She paged through the years, took in the names. Some of them she recognized – unsolved disappearances and people who had suddenly dropped out of the public spotlight. She was close to the end of 2017, the second-earliest year in the document – back when torture was Kajiyama’s hobby rather than his side hustle when she saw it.

_11/19/2017. Ren Amamiya. Fucking brat. This was fun._

Makoto read the line again. She had to be certain she was reading it right.

_11/19/2017. Ren Amamiya. Fucking brat. This was fun._

She read it one last time. She knew what it said, but there was knowing and then there was _knowing_.

_11/19/2017. Ren Amamiya. Fucking brat. This was fun._

Makoto laughed. It started short and bitter. But it didn’t stop. It built and built and wound itself up in a scream and a sob, rage and triumph. She wanted to scream. She needed to scream.

So she screamed.

REN AND MAKOTO: NOW

“ _Fuuuuuuckkkkkkk!!!!!”_

They screamed together, a world apart.

For Ren, a dam broke. And everything he'd tried to hold back flowed free.

For Makoto, a long-forgotten rage peaked. And then subsided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The movie Makoto thinks of is _Miami Vice_ \- ground zero for my cinephilia.)
> 
> And so the far-flung lovers must move back towards each other. Tomorrow, they reunite!
> 
> Also: a brief look at what one Ryuji Sakamoto-Takamaki's been up to in the years since.
> 
> I've tinkered a bit with a Haru-centric piece set in this fic's world. Does that strike anyone's fancy?


	3. Tokyo II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long flight and a short drive with Ryuji, Ren comes home to Makoto.
> 
> The future looms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks. Today's chapter is the longest, and for my money, the best part of the fic. Hope y'all dig it.
> 
> It's also the most music-heavy chapter. If you're following along via the soundtrack playlist, we're going from The Hives' "Main Offender" all the way to Bob Mould's "Pray for Rain."
> 
> Content Notes for discussions of both death by suicide and alcoholism.

REN: NOW

When he felt the plane’s wheels touch the runway, Ren opened his eyes. He hadn’t been able to sleep deeply, but anything was better than nothing. A flight attendant welcomed the passengers to Tokyo and announced that cell phone use was now permitted. Ren turned off airplane mode and opened his IMs. He’d written Makoto and Ryuji before take-off, let them know that he was coming home unexpectedly. He was glad to see that they’d responded.

**REN:** Hey. Long story short, things happened and I’m coming home. I should be due in around 5 PM your time. If either of you are free, would you please come pick me up? I’ve got tortillas and cheddar cheese. And Mako, may I use your couch?

**MAKOTO:** Well, this is a pleasant surprise! Unfortunately, I have errands to run in the evening. Ryuji, would you be able to get him? I should be back by the time you get to my apartment. And Ren, yes, of course you may use my couch.

**RYUJI:** Sure thing dudes! I should just be getting off my shift when you land. Ping me when you’re on the ground.

They had also sent him private messages.

**RYUJI:** Hey man, anything you need to let out on the ride to Makoto’s, I’ll listen. Or I can run the siren and you can scream. I’m here for you.

**\---**

**MAKOTO:** I learned something on my last case that I want to talk to you about. And based on your asking for the couch, there’s something you want to talk about too. We’re in this together. I’ve got you. And you’ve got me.

Ren leaned his head down to his phone and whispered a thank you. Then he stretched his back, felt his vertebrae pop, and sent replies to his friends’ texts as the plane taxied to its gate.

To Makoto and Ryuji both, he wrote:

**REN:** I’m on the ground. Mako, I’ll see you soon. Ryuji, I’ll see you sooner. Join us for breakfast tacos?

Their replies came in quickly.

**RYUJI:** Thanks man, but I’ve gotta pass. The ladies and I are going to dinner to celebrate Shiho’s book hitting paperback. I’ve got a few days off in a row though starting tomorrow though, so let’s definitely go for a run. Save me a taco?

**MAKOTO:** I’ll add bacon to my shopping list. Please give Ann and Shiho my love, Ryuji.  
  
**RYUJI** : Will do Madame DetectiPrez!

To Ryuji privately, he wrote:

**REN:** Thanks, man. Screaming sounds good. I’ll save you a tortilla.

Ryuji sent him back a thumbs up and told Ren he was on his way to Narita International Airport’s baggage claim. To Makoto privately, Ren wrote:

**REN:** Yeah. There is. Let’s. Thank you. I love you, my North Star.

She wrote back:

**MAKOTO:** Good. I’m looking forward to talking about these things with you, Ren. And to the tacos. I love you too, my North Star.

Finally, he shot a message to Haru.

**REN:** I’m on the ground at Narita. Ryuji’s picking me up and taking me to Makoto’s. I’m going to make breakfast tacos. And we’re going to talk. Apparently something’s happened to her that she wants to get into too.

Haru’s reply was swift:

**HARU:** I’m so glad to hear that, Ren-kun. Please give everyone my love. And Ren? Don’t come back. I mean it. I will not allow you to run your soul through a cheese grater. Text me when you’re at Makoto’s, please. I love you all!

Ren sighed, smiled a wobbly smile and sent her a “Roger that” in reply. His fellow passengers were ably shimmying their way down the plane’s corridor, and the sooner he joined them the sooner he’d be with people he loved. Ren stowed his phone, stretched his back a second time, stood, picked up his backpack, fished his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, put them on and waited for his chance to join the shuffle.

RYUJI: NOW

When Ryuji Sakamoto-Takamaki parked the ambulance outside the terminal at Narita International Airport, he knew that he would get _looks_. A full-blown emergency vehicle parked in the short-term lot next to business cars and family vehicles. Driven by a paramedic with messy black-and-blonde hair, a jointed knee brace, a four-leafed clover lapel pin and a woman’s pink hair tie wrapped around his wrist above his watch. Ryuji didn’t mind. He was used to _looks_. They were easy to deal with by now.

He stepped out of the ambulance, stretched, grabbed his water bottle and shut the door behind him. It clicked, satisfyingly. He pulled his cellphone from its holster on his belt and took a long drink from the water bottle – filled with an electrolyte mix Shiho had recommended - as he typed a message to Ren.

**RYUJI:** Hey. I’m here. Heading into to the lobby now.

He was glad to see that Ren’s reply came quickly:

**REN:** Great. I’m just about to go through customs. See you soon.

Ryuji sighed. He was happy that his best friend was back. But, based on his texts, Ren was in a bad place and struggling with being there. That had been true for Ren going all the way back to the first days of their friendship, when he’d shoved down his own panic about possibly being expelled from school and re-arrested in order to support Ryuji and Ann. If someone Ren loved, someone he cared about or even just someone in a bad place needed help, he’d be there. In a heartbeat.

Everything that had happened during the Phantom Thieves’ heavy and daring days. The Devil’s Night Crisis. The day Ann had asked Shiho and Ryuji both to marry her. The aftermath of whatever the hell Yusuke, Futaba and Sumire had encountered in that Transylvanian salt mine. Makoto’s drinking. Ren had stepped up and stepped up and stepped up again.

And Ryuji wished to hell that his best friend would extend that same kindness to himself. Ren had never been good at directly asking for help, not unless he was on the verge of breaking. From the sound of things, he was just about at that point.

_Damnit_ , Ryuji thought as he walked towards the lobby doors. Somewhere along the line Ren had gotten stuck on the idea that he shouldn’t ask for help unless the world had knocked him on his ass and beaten him with a bat – otherwise he’d be imposing unnecessarily. If that were true, then Ryuji was secretly Madara Uchiha. And he’d never had the patience to scheme in the shadows.

But it wasn’t like he could just dramatically point at Ren and yell “CONFESS! CONFESS THAT YOU’RE HURTING AND NEED A HAND!” As satisfying as that might be, all it would do would be to get Ren to clam up completely. No, if Ryuji was going to help his best pal, he’d need to do it quietly. As quietly as he could manage at any rate.

He’d start by being there when Ren made it through customs.

\---

Ryuji saw Ren descending the escalator and took a deep breath. Ren was still wearing most of the tactical gear he and Haru used in their work – elbow and knee pads, both heavily scuffed; black fatigue pants and a thick, red button-down shirt. Even with his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, it was easy to see that Ren was _exhausted_ and trying to hide it. He was standing rail straight, the sort of posture that was impossible to hold unintentionally, and he had the escalator’s handrail in a death grip. When he saw Ryuji, he waved, short and sharp. Ryuji waved back, trying to keep it easy and wide. Ren was home. That’s what he’d focus on first and foremost. He was home, and he needed to get to his _person_. And _that_ , at least, Ryuji could make happen.

“Hey man,” he called once Ren had made it off the escalator.

“Yo,” Ren replied as he slipped past families reuniting, businesspeople looking for contacts and assorted folks generally trying to get where they were going. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Anytime, dude,” Ryuji said, offering him a hand for a bro-hug. Ren took it, and Ryuji embraced him. “Let’s get you home.”

“That sounds great, Ryuji,” Ren said. “That sounds really, really great.”

“Then c’mon, let’s go.” Ryuji eased out of the hug and gestured towards the door. “My chariot awaits, flashing lights and all.”

“Oh hell yes,” Ren said. He smirked and gave Ryuji a thumbs up. It reassured him a little, but Ren’s shakiness remained.

\---

“Now, strictly speaking I’m not supposed to do this,” Ryuji said as he reached for the switch for the ambulance’s lights and siren. “But we’re parked, and I can write it off as the wrong button getting hit.”

Ren nodded; his eyes still hidden behind his aviators.

“So,” Ryuji said. “15 seconds. You ready, Ren-Ren?” Ren groaned at his high school nickname but gave Ryuji a thumbs up.

Ryuji hit the lights and the siren.

Ren screamed. Anguish and heartbreak and exhaustion and a thousand and one other flavors of _hurt_ poured out of him. Weariness and uncertainty and guilt. And amidst all the fury, Ryuji heard something else – relief. Ren screamed again. And again. He screamed until he was shaking in his seat, almost bent over, like he’d just been sick. He stared down at the ambulance floor, and took a slow, deep breath in.

Ryuji killed the lights and the siren and looked at Ren. His glasses were hanging down on the edge of his nose. His eyes were surrounded by dark, dark rings. But at least there was a hint of light in them.

“How’re you feeling now, man?” Ryuji asked. Ren exhaled slowly and sat up. He turned to face Ryuji and slowly took off his glasses.

“That helped,” he said. His voice was raw from his scream. “That helped. Maybe more than I should say.”

“So say it anyway, dude. This is the Ambulance Cab of Secrecy. What you say here stays here for as long as you want it to.” Ryuji gently patted Ren’s shoulder.

Ren sighed, and leaned back against the head rest.

“Haru fired me. For my own good. I’m no longer a white hat private security contractor. I’m no longer a mercenary. It’s for the best. And, man, Ryuji, I’m lost… Just completely and totally lost.” Ren rubbed his eyes, like he hoped the exhaustion would fade if he massaged it, or like the action would hide any tears. Ryuji squeezed his shoulder again, a bit tighter, a bit warmer.

“Everything feels fucking upside down and you can’t see a way up?”

Ren nodded.

“I don’t get it, man. I shot an evil god in the face and struck down the embodiment of primordial humanity to end Takuto’s twisted dream. You’d think I’d have some sort of clarity after that. Instead I’ve just spent the past eight years… like, bouncing all over the world. Searching for myself.”

Ryuji leaned on the ambulance’s steering wheel.

“It hasn’t really been what any of us thought it was going to be,” he said. “Life, I mean. Like, back when we were the Phantom Thieves, I would never have seen myself here.”

“Consoling your leader during a moment of weakness?” Ren asked dryly.

“Nah. You’ve always had just as much right to ask for help as anybody, bud,” Ryuji said. “I meant, like _here_. Driving an ambulance. Working this beat. Marrying my best friend and her best friend and the three of us figuring out how to make our love work. It’s the world, we’re in it and it’s us. So we gotta live. As best we can. And the ideas we had about who we were going to be, instead of who we are? We’ve gotta let them go. That’s the way.”

Ren chuckled, not unkindly.

“Have you been reading the _Tao Te Ching_?”

“Shiho’s been reading it in bed. I’ve been glancing over her shoulder.”

“To read Lao Tzu or to stare at Ann’s chest?”

“Hey!” Ryuji said with a blush. “Both. Kind of.”

Ren laughed. Not a snicker. Not a chuckle, a full-on, full-bodied laugh. Ryuji, for all his embarrassment, found his best pal’s guffaws catchy. Soon he was laughing too. Their shared cackles shook the cab.

When they had wound down to scattered giggles, Ren looked Ryuji in the eyes. Ryuji looked back at him. The exhaustion was still there. And so was the sorrow. But Ren looked a bit more like himself.

“How’re you doing, man? For real?” Ryuji asked.

“Better,” Ren said. “I’m not ok. Like at all. But I’m better than I was a few minutes ago. I needed that scream. And that laugh. I really, really needed them. There’s so much that I need to talk about. So much that I _want_ to talk about. And a lot of that, maybe even most of it… It’s for Makoto.

Ryuji nodded, and turned the key in the ignition. The ambulance’s engine growled, ready to rule the streets in search of lives to save and bodies to call time on.

“So, like I said back in the lobby, Let’s get you home.” Ren shot him a thumbs up and leaned back in his chair.

“Hey, Ryuji?”

“Yo.”

“I know we can’t just run the siren all the way to Makoto’s. That would just make us assholes and get you sacked. But do you have anything loud? Right now I need sound. I need lots of sound.”

Ryuji grinned.

“Ren, how long have we been friends? You want loud? I’ve got you covered.” He held up his phone to show him what he had in mind. The Hives. Their second album, _Veni Vidi Vicious_. Ryuji thumbed down to track 4 and hit play.

_“I’m on my way,_ ” Lead singer Pelle Almqvist declared. _“Can’t settle down. I’m stuck ways of being an ass. I got a lot of nerve that I’m ready to pass._ ”

As Almqvist and his bandmates rocked out, Ren began to head-bang, his eternally messy mop of black, grey-streaked hair dancing. He had found a groove. Ryuji wanted him to ride it as long as possible. It would help Ren heal his heart a bit.

And right now, Ryuji Sakamoto-Takamaki thought, every little bit of healing would help.

_“This is my main offender. This what I’ve got, and it got me saying Why me?”_ Almqvist sang.

Ryuji drove on, into the dusk. Overhead, clouds gathered. Tokyo was due for a storm.

MAKOTO: NOW

When the doorbell rang, Makoto was lying on her living room carpet and listening to Nujabes’ _Metaphorical Music_. Her favorite record, and one that had become a tradition for her. Whenever she closed a long case, she found the time to lie down on her carpet and listen to the album all the way through. The music, which she now knew by heart, had become her loom. She used it to weave her thoughts together, to find the patterns in them and come to final terms with the case. It was restorative, restorative and steadying. And, given who was ringing the doorbell, it could wait.

Makoto sat up, turned the power on her record player off, stretched and walked to the door. Ren had a key, but whenever he was in a low place he tended to default to preexisting boundaries. It was why he’d asked to sleep on her couch even though they’d been together for a decade and shared a bed for most of that time. Between that, Ren’s sudden return to Japan, the tone of his texts and the fact that he had actually said he wanted to talk, Makoto knew that her lover was in a bad way. So she’d do whatever she could to help him. He was her _person_. She was his. When she’d been in her own dark corridor, he’d been there with her. So she would do the same. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Hey, love,” Ren said, pocketing his cellphone. And then Makoto was in his arms. He hugged her tightly. Like he needed to be sure that she was real, that he was really holding her. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him back, just as tightly.

“Hey, Ren,” Makoto said. “I love you. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you and I’m here for you and there’s something that I need to tell you about my last case.”

Ren squeezed her tighter, then gingerly brought a hand up to her face, ran his fingers through her hair – still mostly dark brown, but with a few prominent streaks of white that she was still getting used to. She pulled back and looked at his face. He looked even more exhausted than she was. His hair – still mostly black but with a fair amount of early silver now, was even messier than usual. His eyes were warm and loving, but bloodshot and surrounded by dark rings.

“I love you too, Makoto. I’ve missed you too,” Ren said. “There’s… There’s _a lot_ that I want, that I think I _need_ to talk to you about. But, hey?”

“Yes?

“Could we cook first? I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday unless you count like, six packs of those Biscoff cookies on the plane. I brought tortillas and cheese. And Haru sends her love.”

Makoto snickered, reached up and pulled Ren’s head down so that she could kiss him. He tasted like sweat and airplane cookies and toothpaste and _Ren_.

“Oh. Oh god I’ve missed you, Mako,” Ren said when she broke the kiss. He blinked, as if trying to pull himself back into the apartment post-kiss. “Is that a yes? Are we making dinner?”

Makoto nodded and slipped out of his hug and walked towards her record player.

“I picked up eggs and bacon when I was running errands. I’ll cook the bacon if you scramble the eggs. And I’ll text Haru and tell her I love her too,” she said, and gestured towards her apartment’s kitchen with her thumb.

“That sounds wonderful,” Ren said. He knelt down to unlace his boots. Makoto watched him while she thumbed through her records. He was patient, thorough, perhaps more than he’d usually be, building himself a little island of stability. Makoto knew exactly what it was like to need that. She did it herself sometimes.

Makoto sent Haru a quick text, then turned back to her albums, searching for something low key, something that they could cook to. It wasn’t that Ren disliked Nujabes – on the contrary, he was the one who had gotten her most of his work on his travels. But _Metaphorical Music_ was _hers_. Just like Bob Mould’s _Beauty and Ruin_ was _his_. Those were albums they’d share under different circumstances. Cooking together called for something whose meaning wasn’t _quite_ so intimate. Slowdive. Their self-titled album from 2017. The year of the Phantom Thieves. The year she and Ren had fallen for each other. The year she had found her true self in an iron mask, brass knuckles and the nuclear roar of Johanna’s engine. Ann had found the album in London about two years ago. She’d been playing a villain on _Doctor Who_ and brought it home for Makoto as a souvenir. Makoto gently slid _Metaphorical Music_ back into its sleeve, pulled _Slowdive_ from its own and set the record on her turntable.

A dreamy guitar slithered from the needle, followed shortly by cool percussion. Makoto shut her eyes, let herself sway to the beat flowing around her and filling the room. _Oh yes_ , she thought, _this will do nicely_. She opened her eyes and, still swaying, turned to Ren. Having successfully removed his boots, he’d also taken off the thick red button-down and the elbow and knee pads he’d arrived in, leaving him in a tight black tank top and his fatigue pants. He was swaying to the music too, eyes open, and looked a bit more grounded.

“Slowdive? Good choice,” Ren said as he crossed into the apartment’s main room, a small cooler bag in his left hand. From the other side of her couch, he offered Makoto his free hand with a flourish. “Shall we?”

“By all means, yes,” Makoto said, taking his hand. “Thank you for escorting me.”

“I’d be a pretty lousy retainer if I couldn’t escort my Queen where she wanted to go. So, if you’ll permit me, I’m going to kick fucking ass escorting you the meter and a half to your kitchen.”

“Oh, you…” Makoto shook her head fondly. Ren Amamiya was, it seemed, an eternal cornball and an eternal tease. She did not mind. And at the moment, she’d take it as a good sign. She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

They walked into the kitchen and set to work.

REN: NOW

Ren was about to pour the eggs he’d whisked up into a heated pan when he felt something pulling on his hair.

“Wha?” He set the eggs down, and his hands went to his head. They found Makoto’s – she was sliding her headband onto his head.

“I want you to be able to _see_ the hot skillet before you start working with it,” she said, leaning in and kissing the back of his ear. “So I’m loaning you this. For safety.”

Ren nodded.

“Ok, yeah. Point. Plus, getting hair in the eggs would ruin the tacos and just generally be gross.”

Makoto winced at the thought.

“Oooh yes. Yes, it would.”

Ren removed the headband, pulled his hair back and slid it back on, his face temporarily free of his perennial frizz.

“Well,” he asked with a weary but genuine smile. “How does it look?”

Makoto considered him for a moment.

“You make it work,” she said with a nod.

“Awesome,” Ren said. His hair safely secured, he picked up the measuring cup containing the eggs, poured them into the skillet, and began to stir.

\---

They ate on the floor of the main room, resting against the foot of Makoto’s couch. It wasn’t the most elegant or formal arrangement. But it worked. Rain fell, painting the window, making momentary art.

“So,” Ren said after he’d finished the last of his tacos and set his plate on Makoto’s coffee table. “Do you want to go first or may I?”

“If you’re ok starting, I think you should start. I’m still eating,” Makoto said, holding up her last taco. Ren nodded.

“Alright,” he said. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, fished Makoto’s headband out of his tangled hair and set it on the table next to his plate. “Alright, alright, alright. I guess the best place to begin would be why I’m here.”

Makoto nodded, chewing.

“Haru fired me,” Ren said. “She told me that I was running my soul through a cheese grater trying to do what she does, and that she wasn’t going to let me. And, I mean, she’s right. Action isn’t juice for me the way it is for her. It _was_ hurting me trying to chase that. This last job, we were protecting a client’s kid from a killer. The kid had witnessed something horrible, so the Dixie Mafia wanted them dead. They sent one of their gunmen, I stopped him, chased him up a parking garage. And then,” Ren stopped and pressed his hands into his face.

“And then when I cornered him,” he continued. “He jumped off the roof to get away from me. Three stories. He lived long enough that when I got to him… When I got to him he was able to tell me his name. His name was Charleston Sloan. He wanted to murder a kid. He chose to throw himself off a building rather than surrender. And I held his hand while he died because, Makoto… Oh, Makoto, he just looked so _scared_.” Ren gasped, and a sob escaped.

“That was the breaking point. Even if Haru had to point it out to me, that was it. So now I’m out of a job, and that sucks. But maybe I get to salvage my soul? And start over. Again. I’m 26 years old. I’ve been a tattoo artist. I’ve been an EMT. I’ve been a white hat mercenary employed by one of the most heroic and terrifying women I know. I’m ostensibly qualified to be a therapist, but I’ve never actually _been_ a therapist. Mako, I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. It’s sideways. Totally goddamned sideways. I know I want to be out there helping people. It’s my calling. It’s what I need to be doing. And every way that I’ve tried to go about it so far has fallen apart. Utterly. And I, I don’t know what to do.”

Ren was crying now. Not sobbing, just, crying. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked over at Makoto. She’d finished her taco and pulled her legs into her arms. She was looking back at him, her expression thoughtful. She reached over and stroked his face, wiped the tears away. Ren took her hand and kissed it.

“Do you remember what I said the day you and Sis took me to see _Doctor Sleep_? The day you both told me that my drinking was scaring you?” Makoto asked.

Ren nodded.

“That’s not something I’m ever going to forget.”

“I said that I didn’t know what to do. That the justice I was chasing was being fucking trampled by the very institution I wanted to lead. And that they were going out of their way to do the trampling in front of me. It all felt pointless, but I couldn’t just give up my justice. I didn’t know what to do about it or how to talk about it with Sis or you or anyone. So I drank. I was trying to numb my hurt and sharpen my anger into something that could have done _anything_. But I didn’t know that then. I just knew that I felt useless and the world was upside down. It isn’t a one-to-one comparison. But, Ren, love, I’ve felt a bit of what you’re feeling now. It was horrible. And it didn’t last forever, and I didn’t take it on alone. You and Sis made sure of that. You and me? We’re partners, always. So I promise you, you won’t face this alone either.”

Makoto shoved her empty plate out of the way and leaned back, pulling Ren down to the floor. She wrapped her arms around him. He looked at her. Her eyes, his favorite of her features, were deep red tonight. In a happier time, he would have wanted to stare into them forever. Right now, he was just glad to see them. He ran a hand along one of the white streaks in her hair and thought about how both of their lives had left them careworn in places. Even with _Slowdive_ playing and the rain dancing on the windows, it was her heartbeat that he heard the loudest.

“Thank you, Mako,” he said, quietly. “I want to get better at this, North Star. At talking about these hurts. I don’t want to just keep bottling them up until they explode. Maybe I should start talking to a therapist myself? I could give Takuto a call, see if there’s anybody he could recommend.”

Makoto smiled.

“I think that’s a good idea. I think that would be a really good idea. I’ll ask Dr. Kuga too, if you’d like.”

“Please.”

“I’ll ask him at my next appointment. And in a roundabout way, this sort of brings us to what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“How so?” Ren asked, his head tilting with the question.

“My most recent case, the one I was helping Captain Sekiguchi with? The man we were hunting turned out to be one of the men who tortured you when you were in police custody. Makoto Kajiyama, detective with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. He was running a torture-for-hire business, for fun as much as money. He kept a log. Your name was one of the first entries. And I caught him. I’ve done it, my North Star. I smoked one of the pigs who brutalized you. And with the hammer Sekiguchi’s dropping on him, he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again. Justice prevailed. It took ten years, but justice prevailed.”

Ren pulled Makoto closer.

“How’re you feeling about it?” he asked.

“A little bit of a lot of things,” she replied. “Relieved. Relieved that he’s _done_. Proud. Proud that I’m the one who caught him. Angry. Angry at the harm he did to you, that he did to too many other people. Angry that he had what used to be my dream job. Angry that we share a name. And this’ll sound strange, but I’m a bit uncertain too.”

“Oh?” Ren’s head titled again. He continued to stroke her hair.

“Yeah. Like, intellectually, I know what comes after you accomplish a long-term goal: the next day. And the days that follow that day. But knowing that and feeling that aren’t the same thing. I’ve been hunting Makoto Kajiyama since November 21st, 2017. I just didn’t know his name until now. If Sekiguchi can flip Kajiyama, he might very well bag the others who tortured you too. And that’ll be it. That’ll be one of my life’s goals accomplished. It’ll be done. And that’ll be a big, _big_ gap in my sense of self. It’s a gap I’ll be glad to have, but still…”

“It’s still _a lot_ to feel.”

“Exactly,” Makoto said. She wound one of her fingers through Ren’s hair. “It’s _a lot_ to feel. And there’s all the questions that come with what comes next. I’ll find their answers. But for now they’re known unknowns. And I’ve never been great with those.”

“You’re quoting Donald Rumsfeld, love,” Ren said. He kissed her forehead. “That’s rarely a good sign. And I get what you mean. I think that we’re both dealing with, well, a great big ball of futz and static. There’s so much, so much that’s up in the air or going to be up in the air for both of us. And that can be _a lot_ on a good day. ‘ _What are we going to do now?’_ It’s a big, big question. And a scary one. And I think it’s an inevitable one.”

Makoto nodded, and pulled Ren closer.

“You’re right,” she said. “It is inevitable. And it is scary. But, hey. Here we are, recognizing that. So we’ll be able to face it. And hey, we’re here together.”

Ren nodded.

“Yeah. We’ll make it. I know we will. You’ll keep adding pieces to your puzzle. I’ll find my way back into rhythm. I don’t know how yet. But I will. So for now, for now we ride the waves.”

He leaned forward and gently kissed Makoto. She tasted like exhaustion and breakfast tacos and sparkling mineral water and _herself_.

“And I’m grateful,” Ren said once he’d pulled away. “I’m so, so grateful that I get to ride them with you. You’re light, Makoto Niijima.”

“Oh, Ren…” Makoto said, once she’d caught her breath. She blushed. “I love you, Ren Amamiya. I love you so goddamn much.”

They held on to each other. Slowdive wound through a dream. Outside, the rain fell steadily.

“I love you too, Mako. For always,” Ren said. He blinked, reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I love you for always and I really, really wish I could sleep.”

“Yeeeeaaaahhhhh…” Makoto groaned and nodded. “I know _exactly_ how you feel. Whenever I close a major case I have to teach myself how to sleep all over again. Tired and wired?”

“Precisely. If I shut my eyes right now, all I’d do is open them 25 seconds from now wondering if it’s tomorrow yet.” Ren said. He exhaled. He was feeling much, much better than he had been. But he was still ragged and weary and charged up.

“That’s familiar,” Makoto said with a wince. “Too familiar for comfort, really.”

Ren chuckled dryly.

“So, what should we do about it?”

Makoto looked into Ren’s eyes. He looked into hers. Slowdive played. The rain fell. And then Makoto sat up.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. Ren was thrilled to see that she was smiling a familiar smile. He’d first seen it at the Phantom Thieves’ meetings, when Makoto would lay out a plan and they’d all come together to build on it. It was a small smile, one filled with meaning, and one of his favorites of her expressions. Makoto pushed herself to her feet and offered Ren a hand up. He took it.

MAKOTO: NOW

“ _There’s not much left to do but pray for rain_ ,” Bob Mould sang. “ _We could use a storm or two every day_.”

Mould’s guitar work was bright and energetic. His lyrics, by contrast, were fairly heavy. The dissonance worked in the song’s favor – it was as much about wanting to heal and dynamite guitar playing as it was coming to terms with a massive hurt. Makoto heard the truth in it. And it was danceable. Extremely danceable.

The plan was simple. Put on Mould’s 2016 album _Patch the Sky_ and dance until they couldn’t anymore. It was working.

There were those who believed that all the world’s problems could be solved by dancing. Makoto did not hold to that, but dancing did have its joys. And its uses.

“ _World keeps marching on, and I can’t help but get upset_ ,” Mould sang. “ _Left here by myself, there’s no more tears that will be falling. Nothing more than dirt and dust. Nothing left at all_.”

Neither she nor Ren was dancing with style or grace. Ren was bobbing, weaving and flailing. An inflatable tube man caught in a hurricane. She herself was full-body headbanging in syncopated bursts. But they were moving. And they were moving together. It was what they could do. And it was what they needed.

“ _I don’t know what else to do but pray for rain_ ,” Mould declared. “ _I could write a song for you to ease the strain._ ”

Outside, lightning flashed silently.

REN: NOW

“ _There’s not much left to do but pray for rain_ ,” Mould declared. _“We could use a storm or two every day_.”

Ren felt strange moving with no more purpose than just to move. Purpose was what drove him. It had been since the days when he’d been Joker, the Wild Card, the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. As a martial artist, his purpose was to push himself further, to do right by the arts he was learning and the teachers who’d taken him on as a student. As Haru’s right hand, his purpose had been to wield his skill and strength in the service of those who needed protecting.

Now he was dancing simply to dance, to burn off the weary energy that came with being emotionally and spiritually fried and exhausted. And the lighter energy that came with being around Makoto, his favorite person. His _person_. The weights he’d wound around his soul were coming loose in between Mould’s guitar and Makoto’s eyes and the way the white streaks in her hair lit up when lightning struck.

“ _I need you, release me. Make me feel again, pray for rain._ ” Mould sang.

Ren pointed at Makoto, exhausted and world-weary and magnificently alive and herself, and began to sing along.

“ _I need you, release me. Make me feel again, pray for rain!_ ” Makoto smirked and beckoned to him. Ren advanced, trying in a twirl that nearly made him lose his balance. He stumbled but managed to unwind his feet from each other before they got completely tied up.

“ _Make me feel again!”_ Mould commanded. “ _I need you!_ ”

Makoto was trying not to giggle as Ren stumbled towards her. Ren couldn’t help but laugh with her. He liked to think of himself as graceful and stylish most days. He enjoyed turning up the sexy for Makoto. But, every once in a while, he’d get tangled up in himself. Yesterday, it would have hurt. It would have been humiliating, one more thing to be bitter about, one more thing to bury.

“ _Make me feel again! Release me!_ ” Mould sang.

But yesterday was yesterday. It was time he wasn’t going to get back. It mattered, and the sorrows born from it weren’t just going to disappear because he was dancing with Makoto. But dancing with Makoto was how he was facing them tonight. Makoto Niijima was his favorite person in the world. She, the whole of her, was his great love. Here and now, in this moment, his time was hers. And time was, as Michael Mann had put it, luck.

_“Make me feel again!_ ” Mould’s guitar was defiant joy.

Ren stood tall and pirouetted before Makoto just because he could. She cackled, his favorite melody in the world.

“ _Make me feel again!_ ” Mould’s voice, even weary, was kinetic.

Makoto pulled him into a tight hug, and they swayed together, wrapped up in each other. Ren looked into her eyes. He remembered the night they’d heard Mould play live, when they’d danced under the rain and he’d kissed her as Mould and his lover had headed straight into the Sunshine Rock. It had been a perfect moment.

“ _PRAY FOR RAIN!_ ” They kissed. The song’s climax crashed into them like a wave, bracing and thrilling, a reminder that they were alive.

“Goddamn, Ren,” Makoto said, as “Pray for Rain” meandered through its brief epilogue. “You’re grinning.

“So are you. I’ll call that a good sign,” Ren said. He leaned back, freed a hand and rubbed his eyes. “This was a good plan. I think I could sleep now.”

Around them, “Pray for Rain” gave way to the opening of “Lucifer and God.”

“Me too.” Makoto said. She hummed happily, and Ren detected a hint of mischief in it. “But, Ren?” she asked as she pulled away from him. She stretched, pulling her arms back over her head, and turned off the record player.

“Mako?”

“We’ve both been running ourselves ragged for a while now. And we’ve been dancing. I want to take a shower. And I want you to join me.”

“That sounds… That sounds _great_ , Makoto,” Ren said, grinning. “Lead the way?”

Makoto offered him her hand.

“Of course. you _are_ my escort.” Ren took it and kissed it with a slight flourish. Makoto rolled her eyes, affectionately.

“And you’re my North Star, Queen. For always.”

Together, they headed for the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow: the future.
> 
> I really, really enjoyed writing Ryuji here.


	4. Tokyo III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the conclusion of this. _Time is Luck_ is the most ambitious piece of fic I've worked on during my time in any fandom, and it's one of the first that I've seen through to the end. I'm glad to have worked on it and privileged to have shared it with all you fine folks. Cheers.
> 
> We're going to run the rest of the soundtrack today. While Jonny Greenwood's "Tree Synthesizers" doesn't appear in the fic itself, I did listen to it on repeat while writing the last chunk of this chapter. I think it informs the mood darn well.
> 
> The soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUOgOXZQtwJzAJC0YJ_aLRGlOtS-TRd6j

MAKOTO: NOW

The shower was wonderful. Makoto put The Messthetics’ “The Inner Ocean” on the little speaker that hung off her showerhead to set the mood. The steam was cleansing, the heat was, and the water pressure was _marvelous_. She and Ren washed one other, took it as a chance to reacquaint themselves with the feel of each another’s touch. It was sensual and sexy and, in its own way, sacred.

When they’d finished, they combined Ren’s aggressive towel-fu and her merciless mastery of the hair dryer. Somehow, they managed to get most of his eternally untamable hair properly dry. Victory on that front was rare. It called for a celebration

So they’d celebrated. Ren put a song she’d never heard before on her bedroom speaker.

“This is ‘Home to Me,’ by Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. Haru and I discovered them when we were staking out this abandoned college in Vermont,” he said as he fidgeted with the volume.

“And why were you two staking out an abandoned college in Vermont?” Makoto asked from the bed.

“Oh, it’s a _story,_ Mako,” Ren said. Even exhausted, there was a delightful hint of Joker’s mischief in his voice. Satisfied with the volume, he turned to face her. Makoto had reveled in the sight of him. “I could tell you now, or…”

“You can tell me later,” Makoto said. “Ren Amamiya. Get over here. Now.” She beckoned him with a regal finger. Ren nodded. And then he pounced.

When they were done, they lay on her bed, tangled up in each other. They listened to each other’s breathing, the imagined static of a digital album that had finished and the rain.

“I think I want to shower again,” Ren said finally. Makoto burst into a giggling fit.

“Yeeeeaaaahhhhh. Me too,” she said. “You can have first dibs, if you’d like.”

“I’d very much like,” Ren replied. He kissed her, and after some quick teamwork to get disentangled, made his way back to the bathroom.

\---

Makoto heard the sound of running water and took a deep breath. She stood up, walked over to her little speaker system, unlocked Ren’s phone and put “Home to Me” on again. She was curious about the lyrics.  
  
“ _How dare you love me like you’ve never known fear?_ ” The singers asked. “ _When you’ve got more troubles than minutes in the year. And a voice like your father’s tells you nothing good’s for free. Well that may be, but you’re walking home to me_.”

Makoto’s breath caught a little at the lyric. It was true. A familiar sort of true. She thought back to the arguments they’d had during the infiltration of Sae’s palace, when they’d been in the sights of a shadowy cabal of hollow, loathsome men. When Ren had wagered his life on a plan of hers that she had been terrified would come undone catastrophically. When she’d faced down the great serpent Sae had been becoming and pulled her sister back to herself. She thought of their reunion after Ren had been freed from prison, of their long conversation on Valentine’s Day. Of the first time she’d met the Amamiyas, and how infuriatingly brittle they were towards Ren.

“ _Must have seen your picture down there in the well,_ ” Devil and the Deep Blue Sea sang. “ _Black birds were flying, watching as you fell. Years ago I would have said that you’d never get back up again…_ ”

She thought of her nights and days at Billy’s Club, the cop bar where she’d tried to grind away all the heartbreak and fury of her days on the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force. She thought of Stephen King and Ewan McGregor and Sae and Ren taking her hands and telling her that they were scared for her. Of the look in Ren’s eyes when he’d told her about Charleston Sloan’s death.

“ _On the day you left me, you promised you’d come back,_ ” the song continued. “ _I don’t know who taught you how to live like that. All the fences in your way have to crumble in the wind one day._ ”

Makoto smiled. The song and their lives had parted ways. She knew how Ren had become himself, how she had become herself. They’d learned from the people they loved, from each other, from themselves. But there was still truth in it.

She let the song play out, and then played it again. As it wound down, Ren stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and lightly shaking some stubborn droplets out of his hair.

“It’s a total earworm,” Ren said. “Your turn.”

“Yes. Yes it is. And thanks, love,” Makoto said. She stopped the song and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek on her way to the shower.

\---

She didn’t listen to any music this time. The sound of the shower was enough. She ran it lukewarm, almost cool. It was calming. Once she was done, she brushed her teeth and donned giant colorful bathrobe Yusuke had knit for her in an experimental moment. She was tired. Tired and relieved and drained and uncertain and hopeful and in love with her best friend. She could hear the rain outside – still falling hard.

Ren was reading one of her Ross Macdonald novels on the bed, now dressed in a pair of boxers and a blue t-shirt emblazoned with the emblem of the Ancient and Benevolent Order of the Lynx. It had been a gift from an American friend in the Order who’d told him that it was exactly the right sort of soft to sleep in. Makoto could attest to this – she’d borrowed it from his drawer on a few lonely nights. He looked up and waved to her.

“Hey, love,” he said.

“Hey, yourself,” she replied. She shed the robe, knelt down to the drawer where she kept her sleep clothes, and dressed in a pair of underwear and a familiar t-shirt. Time had worn holes under the arms, and some of the bats were a bit blurrier. But still, they were bats. And what was there to say about them but “FUCK YEAH?”

Ren chuckled as he set the Macdonald on the side table.

“I’m never getting that back, am I?” Makoto shook her head, climbed onto the bed, wrapped her arms around Ren and gently pulled him down.

“No. It’s mine. I think it’s been mine since Austin.” Ren shifted around to face her and began to gently stroke her hair.

“Thief,” he said with mock ire. “But you’re right on both counts. It’s yours. And it’s been yours since Austin… Man. Austin. Hey, Mako, may I ask a weird question?” Makoto looked in Ren’s eyes. They met hers, but there was something far away in them, something contemplative.  
  
“By all means. I’ll answer as best I can.”  
  
“What do you think would have been different if you’d all been able to take me back to my hometown when I left Tokyo?”

She remembered that day, the day their impromptu plan to drive Ren back home had shifted on the fly. She and her friends had run interference against a pair of goons employed by the remnants of the conspiracy the Phantom Thieves had destroyed, buying Dr. Maruki the time he needed to get Ren and Morgana clear of them. They’d made it out of Tokyo, but the Phantom Thieves’ goodbyes had been more abrupt than any of them had wanted. It would have been wonderful, all of them on the road together, celebrating Ren’s freedom. But that was not how things had played out.

“Hmm. It’s an interesting hypothetical for certain,” she said. “I think at the very least that summer might have felt a little less lonely in places. And, if you’re interested in pushing a bit further, perhaps that would have led to the Phantom Thieves being more geographically close to each other in addition to the love we share in this here and now. What’s on your mind?”  
  


Ren shrugged, and Makoto caught a hint of melancholy in it.

“Possibility, I think. Say we’re able to take that trip. Maybe my parents meet you all and get a clue. Maybe I’m able to find my calling without as much of the aimlessness and heartbreak and trauma. Maybe we had an all-time great wedding. Maybes upon maybes upon maybes. Like, Makoto, it’s not something I want to dwell on, because that does nothing for anyone. But still… I wonder, y’know?”

She nodded.  
  
“I do,” she said. And then she smiled. “I think it’s something that everyone does. With everything you’ve lived recently, yeah. I get it. The what ifs are going to be loud. But Ren? Like you said, you know they’re not a place to spend too long in. And that’s a pretty great start. Still, though, Ren?”

“Yeah, Makoto?”  
  
“I want you to say part of that again. For me.” Ren blinked, briefly confused. Then it clicked for him, and he smiled back at her. A confident smile, a shy smile, a Ren smile.

“We had an all-time great wedding?”

“Yes. Exactly. What’s stopping us?”

“…Nothing. It wouldn’t be what we’ve been sold, and there’s still so much that’s sideways, and my parents won’t approve, but nothing is stopping us.”

Makoto slid an arm up to Ren’s head and gently pulled it to hers.

“Well. If the Amamiyas won’t have me, the Niijimas will have you. I give you my word on that, love.”

She heard Ren’s breath catch.

“You’re serious, Mako?”

“Ask me, Ren. Ask me to marry you.” Ren nodded, still smiling. He gently pulled her hands into his own.

“Makoto Niijima,” he said. “I love you to the end of entropy and back. You are my favorite person in the world. You’re my _person_. It’s been a privilege to share the time we’ve had. I’m the luckiest person in the whole damn world that I know you, that I love you. You’re my North Star. Will you marry me?”

Makoto pulled Ren’s hands down, laced her fingers with his, and nodded.

“Yes. Yes, Ren. Yes I will marry you. My beloved. My North Star. My _person_. Yes.”

They kissed, long and sweet. When their lips parted, they were both grinning.

“Wow,” Ren said.

“Agreed,” Makoto replied.

“This is going to be a leap,” he said. “A massive, exciting leap that we’ll have to go deep on.”

“Yes, exactly,” she said. “Tomorrow we should sit down and work out the specifics of what we’re going to do and how we’re going to do it. Even if we aren’t going for a grand procession, there’s a lot that needs to be done.”

“Tomorrow, though.” Ren said. “Because right now, I don’t think I can think all that coherently beyond ‘I love you, I’m marrying you, I’m really, really, really damn tired. And I think, I think I could actually rest now.’”

Makoto yawned.

“Tomorrow. Right now, I’m with you. I’m with you, I’m with you, I’m with you and rest… I want to rest.”

Ren wrapped his arms around her.

“Then for now, let’s rest.”

She squeezed him tightly and nuzzled his nose.

“Yes, let’s.”

They drifted towards sleep, towards rest. Rain fell. Time ticked forwards. On the edge of closing her eyes, Makoto thought of Ren’s tattoo. “Time is luck.”

It was true. It was true. It was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that.
> 
> As far as follow-ups go, I'm working on two. The first is a long-form mystery starring Makoto and Ren. The second is a long one-off actioner starring Haru. Look for them when they're up!
> 
> Thanks again for taking the time to read this, gentlefolks. Be well.

**Author's Note:**

> The Bob Mould show Ren and Makoto attend was performed in 2019. And it was one of the best concerts I've ever had the pleasure of attending.
> 
> The next chapter hits tomorrow. Years after Austin, Ren's on the edge of darkness and Makoto's dragging a vicious creep towards long-overdue justice.
> 
> And Haru's living her best life.
> 
> Hope to see you all there!


End file.
